Maybe you've seen it on store shelves. Maybe you've bought it. Maybe you've force-fed it to your children, dog, or grandmother. What is this mysterious item? No, not arsenic, but Trident White, a "whitening gum" from the people who brought you... other bubblegum flavors. It promises to whiten your teeth while tasting great. I decided to risk my life by putting a package to the test.

Please note: This review applies to package #2-1140-77-019, and is not representative of the gum as a whole. If you would like to know whether your pack of trident white is deadly, deadly poision, please send it to me for testing purposes.

I began my test in an upbeat and positive mood. I was looking forward to an enjoyable chewing experience. Before you send me angry letters, let me assure you that I am well aware that trident only guarantees to entertain your mouth with its "Trident Splash" line of gum, but I was certain that I would have a blast anyway. Whitening your teeth is awesome.

Sadly, after the first 6 blocks of chemical mixtures, I was noticing side-effects. By the end of the package, I was barely conscious, releasing random outbursts of gibberish, and punching fire hydrants. It was an unfortunate conclusion to an otherwise enjoyable chewing experience.

Of course, Trident White isn't poisonous. That was just an attention-grabber, fool. In fact, it has virtually no effects. It doesn't whiten your teeth, and based on their nutrition guide, I recieved 0% of my daily dose of everything -- SCORE! I don't know if that still applies when you swallow it all, but I'm sure it's not a big difference.






So there you have it. The best gum of the pack. And what a rollercoaster ride of a pack of gum it was. If you're looking for wild mood swings mixed with periods of sickness, then Trident White gum package #2-1140-77-019 would have been for you.

- "Honest Watson" -- bringing you solid reviews since September 23, 2007.

The husband gets up from the sofa.

Husband: Listen, you jerks, just get out of my house. You're annoying me, and emboldening my spouse.

He lands a hard punch on his boss's face, stumbling back a few steps. His boss hollers, and retreats with his shocked wife.

Husband: Sorry, honey, it had to be done. I don't want a job, and I don't need one. I'm building a rocket, a little surprise. It's ready to launch, so say your goodbyes.

He waves to his son, still standing at the stairs.

Husband: I'm sorry, son, that I've always been sauced.

Son: I hate you, you louse, now go -- get lost!

Wife: Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. You did what?

A large cardboard spaceship is lowered to the stage. The characters dance in a circle, waving their palms toward the falling rocket, their mouths agape.

Wife: You've built a rocket, our future's saved! Now I can live how I've always craved! I'll eat horrible food; pee in a hose. There are no cons, only the pros!

She stops, thinks, and eyes her husband suspiciously.

Wife: Wait a minute. This can't be true. All you do is sleep and drink brew. You built a rocket, in record time? You must be lying, you lousy slime.

Husband. Yeah, we get it, woman, so I drink a lot. It's all that's ever managed to make you seem hot. There, I said it. You're as ugly as a horse.

Wife: It's worth repeating: I want a divorce.


The actors now take a fifteen minute break, as required by local labor laws.


Wife: Okay, i'll do it, I'll get in your ship.

The Husband is half-way up a ladder to the cockpit.

Husband: Whether you do, or you don't, I don't give a rip.

She clambers up after him.

Son: I'm coming too, and I'm bringing my toad.

They're all in the cockpit.

Husband: Oh damn, it's gonna explode.

The spaceship blows to smithereens. Debris flies in all directions. The cockpit, severely damaged, separates from the ship and manages to achieve orbit.

Frog: Well that's just great, now I'm forced to be a hermit. Oh well, I guess I'm in space -- EAT IT, Kermit.

End of Scene II